


If the Government Could Read My Mind, They'd Know I'm Thinking of You

by waketosleep



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Surveillance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:17:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waketosleep/pseuds/waketosleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sheriff's secret police care about you and want what's best for you. Most of you. The point is, if they don't care about you, you're probably already dead or incarcerated. And you probably don't get one of the cells with HBO on Demand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If the Government Could Read My Mind, They'd Know I'm Thinking of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nix_this](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nix_this/gifts).



> The best way to make me listen to something like this podcast is to make me have to spend six hours driving, where I am a captive audience with nothing better to do and too much apathy to change what's playing on my iPod. So thanks, whoever secretly arranged for that. I got through enough episodes to--not LOVE Night Vale, but think it was reasonably okay. Like Stockholm Syndrome!
> 
> This fic is for mdevile and she knows why because she can see the title. I wrote it because big brother police states are hilarious in all contexts. [All of them.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhiWc99KrLg) And also because I saw some other Night Vale fic and there was a glaring absence of one particular in-universe detail that made all kinds of sense to me. Maybe it was the chemtrails.

They were in the Ralph's looking at steaks when it happened.

Theresa from the bank paused in her shopping meanderings, said, "Hello, Cecil," in a warm voice, and then said, "Great show last night."

She wandered off again when Cecil grinned and thanked her, and Carlos was left staring at him.

Cecil caught his eye and stared back. "What? Is there something on my face?" His voice took on an edge of panic, probably because of the leech incident the week before, when his car had broken down out by Josie's house.

"There's nothing on your face," Carlos said quickly, heading him off at the pass. "I just." He didn't really want to explain himself because that seemed like a terrible idea, but Cecil was giving him an expectant look now and he wasn't going to get out of it. Cecil was tenacious.

"I didn't realize until just now that your radio show was actually broadcast," he said quietly to the lean ground 'beef'.

There was a long, awful silence. Someday Carlos was going to learn to think before he... emoted.

"Why wouldn't my show be broadcast?" Cecil asked in a very reasonable tone. "You--did you think I made it up? That I sit in a recording booth for half an hour every weeknight and talk to nobody? That station management lets me have interns while I do this?"

It wouldn't even be the weirdest thing to happen in this town, Carlos didn't say. He grabbed a package of steaks and started quietly leading the way up to the front of the store, hoping they wouldn't draw too much attention on the way. He thought he'd heard a librarian somewhere in the cereal aisle so odds were in their favour that they wouldn't be the centre of anyone's attention, if they made no sudden movements and stuck to the perimeter.

Cecil appeared to be watching him, contemplating all of this, as Carlos calmly paid, successfully avoided eye contact with the cashier, and led the way out into the parking lot and his Honda.

"So what you're telling me right now is that you've never listened to my show," said Cecil as Carlos unlocked the car. He was still very calm. It was disconcerting; Carlos glanced up at him over the roof of his car and regretted it, though, because Cecil was starting to look hurt.

"And those times you asked me to mention things on the show, those were, what, making fun?" Cecil went on, crossing his arms and apparently not willing to get in the car until this conversation was over. Carlos would, frankly, take the win if Cecil still got in the car when this conversation was over.

"I was giving you the benefit of the doubt," said Carlos. "You don't seem any crazier than the average person around here."

"Because I mentioned all of them," continued Cecil. "Well, I forgot about the holes in the walls thing for a while, but nobody reported any deaths. I can't believe this. It's not like I've ever doubted your lab exists, just because I've never seen any of the science you do. I took your word for it about the house that isn't real, and I can _see it_!"

Carlos abruptly lost his temper, yanking his door open and tossing the grocery bag onto the backseat, where it landed on a stack of journals. "Honest to god, Cecil, I would listen to your show if I could find a radio anywhere in this town to do it! The secret police even ripped the radio out of my car when I moved here! They said it was a security risk! So you tell me, Cecil: how does anybody go about listening to your show or anything else on your station? Have _you_ ever seen a radio around here?"

Cecil's expression went from pissed off to grossed out at the drop of a hat. "I should hope not. Nobody should be getting close enough for such a good look at one. Except the dentist," he added as an afterthought. "I hear he's pretty good at repairs, too."

"What," was all Carlos could say to that, and he said it loudly, and with some head shaking and hand gestures that really telegraphed the way his brain was doing backflips in his skull. For the fourth time this week (and it was Tuesday).

"Maybe you should go see him yourself, if you're having so many technical problems," said Cecil, tapping at his jaw for some reason. But on the upside, his pity for Carlos being yet again put on the back foot by life seemed to have obliterated the anger, and he opened the passenger door. "Come on," he said, "let's go make dinner. Hannibal is on soon, and I need new recipe ideas."

"I keep telling you it's not a cooking show," said Carlos, getting in the car.

"You know science, I know entertainment," was all Cecil had to say about that.

***

Carlos was pulled over on the way to work Wednesday morning. He clutched the steering wheel in fear as a secret policeman strolled up to his window, wondering what he'd done; he'd been doing the speed limit as indicated by the flag-bearer two blocks back and his secret pen and pencil stash was in a lockbox in the lab that he had the only key to.

But the policeman didn't ask for his registration or lock of hair. He just leaned on the door frame and looked down at Carlos, squinting through the holes in his leather balaclava.

"Officer, I presume?" Carlos said, his voice raspy.

"Cecil's pretty upset about you not listening to his show," said the secret policeman. At Carlos' blank look, he went on, "He was talking to his mother about it on the phone this morning."

"Oh," said Carlos. "I see."

"The Sheriff's secret police force as a collective really likes that kid," said the policeman. "Although we'll deny it unequivocally and you'll disappear if you say anything about that."

Carlos shook his head. "Wasn't planning on it."

"We looked into it last night after your fight and it turns out your paperwork got misfiled when you moved to town. We've dealt with the offending office personnel and you have twenty-four hours to get your tooth-radio installed at a licensed and council-approved dental technician, or you'll face criminal charges." A form was thrust through the window at him, with Carlos' full name and several worryingly accurate details about his identity helpfully filled in already. "We are assured that you'll address this issue with all due haste."

"Tooth-radio?" Carlos echoed, looking down at the form.

"Consider this your official welcome to Night Vale," suggested the policeman. "And remain aware that we're only overlooking your writing utensil transgressions because of your relationship with Cecil, who as we mentioned, is a pretty good kid, and because you've been instrumental in dealing with several recent threats against the town." The policeman paused. "That could always change."

"Understood, officer," said Carlos, his palms itching with sweat. He placed the form carefully on the passenger seat before he smudged it.

"Have a safe and obedient day." With a threateningly friendly thump on the car roof, the secret policeman melted back into the shadows.

***

Flying in the face of all prior experience, Night Vale as a collective made more sense to Carlos after his legally obligated visit to the dentist (who also employed a hygienist who gave one hell of a cleaning). They gave him a brochure at the office about home radio care and a quick lesson in how to change stations with his tongue, and one of the militia pinmonkeys at the bowling alley told him how to turn down the volume after the Black Sabbath Educational Hour gave him a headache.

It was going to take some getting used to, and he was going to have to ask Cecil later, in as much privacy as they could muster, whether it was possible to turn the thing off (he suspected sadly that it wasn't), but in the meantime, he finally got to listen to the show. Cecil's voice vibrated through his head in a pleasant way, like he was speaking directly to Carlos from across town in his recording booth. Maybe he was; maybe he always had been, and Carlos just hadn't known how to listen for it before.

Well, he was listening now. And when he softly returned Cecil's 'good night' from in front of the computer screen in his lab, he pretended that it wasn't just the secret police who could hear him.

 

THE END


End file.
